Ariadne's Diadem (15 page)

She smiled apologetically. “Forgive me, Mr. Danby—it’s just that I know so little.”

“You will soon learn.”

“I trust so.” She lowered her eyes, toying with the folds of lavender velvet across her lap.

“You
will
be a perfect duchess, you know,” he said quietly.

Her gaze flew up. “I would like to believe you, sir.”

“Then do so, for I know something of the world into which you will be going, and believe me, you are not the gauche country mouse you clearly believe yourself to be. The man who marries you will be a very fortunate man, indeed.”

“Please don’t...” She got up agitatedly, for the softness in his voice and eyes aroused feelings she knew should not be there.

He got up as well. “Why not?” he said, coming around the desk toward her. “What is wrong with telling you the truth?”

“You know full well, Mr. Danby.” She tried to back away, but could only press against the glass-fronted bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling.

“What do I know, Anne?” Gervase asked gently.

“I gave you no leave to address me so familiarly.”

“True, but I take that liberty anyway.” He put his hand to her chin and made her look up at him.

“Please, don’t,” she begged, her wonderful eyes filling with tears.

“You want me to keep denying what we have both known since we met?”

“Yes.”

“And if I will not?”

“Then I must ask you to leave.”

“Is that what you want, Anne?” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

She tried to fend off emotion with common sense. “Is this a test, Mr. Danby? Is it your brief to see if the lady who is to be Duchess of Wroxford is in fact a lady? If I succumb now, will you convey my failure to the duke when he arrives? Is he simply seeking an excuse to cast me aside and have my father turned out of Llandower? Has he found a way around the will? Is that what this is really about?”

“Do you truly believe I would do that?” he asked.

“Why should I not?”

“If you require proof that I am in earnest, I give it gladly,” he whispered, putting his hand to her waist and drawing her toward him.

“No...” She struggled, trying to deny the sensations that were pounding unstoppably through her, but they were irresistible. He wove a magic that was impossible to withstand, and her futile protests were stifled as his lips found hers. She was spellbound, trapped forever by a sexual enchantment that drew her to him as if they were two halves of one whole. Never had anything felt more right than being in this man’s arms, and yet she was only too aware that it was very wrong. She was destined for Hugh Mowbray, and even to
think
of Charles Danby like this was forbidden, but the relentless onslaught of his kiss rendered her resolve ever more fragile, and her heart ever more open to assault. Reason told her to break free, to order him to leave and thus show that she was worthy of becoming a duchess! Oh, she knew what she
should
do
,
but instead her lips parted, and her arms moved around him, hesitantly at first, then with a fervor that was a mirror of his own.

He slid his fingers into the scented warmth of the hair at the nape of her neck, and her body was sweetly pliable as he pulled her tight against him. She wove magic too, and it coiled so unsparingly around him that a kiss that began with gentleness soon became a thing of unfettered passion. His whole consciousness was aroused, as if forgotten comers of his being were suddenly stirring with life again. She was the love he had been waiting for, the echo of his own heartbeat, and for these few seconds she was in his arms, responding to him as she had in the barn, but without prompting by the ancient powers of an interfering faun. He crushed her to him, and in spite of their clothes it was already as if they were one.

He couldn’t prevent his arousal, nor did he wish to. It was good to feel her pressing against his hardness; good to know that she could feel him too. He heard her breath catch, partly in confusion, partly in excitement, and he knew she had never knowingly experienced anything like this before. She was untouched, and yet in his arms she came so sensuously to life that, just as had happened in the barn, he longed to take things to a natural and fulfilling conclusion. But he could sense her inner struggle. She was trapped by unbelievably erotic feelings, and at the same time torn with guilt and shock that she could indulge such familiarity with a virtual stranger. She didn’t know what was happening to her, and her dilemma made him adore her all the more. Yes, he adored her! He
adored
her!

Anne couldn’t tear away. She wanted to, but was prey to a new weakness she hadn’t realized she possessed. She could feel his maleness through their clothes, and wild new sensations tingled yearningly through her entire body as she pressed against him. Her body felt warm and seemed to be melting. Oh, what would it be like to be naked now, to press skin to skin, and to feel him inside her…? Please don’t let her succumb any more. Please don’t let her craving for Charles Danby lead her into the ultimate folly! But, that was the direction in which these treacherous emotions were luring her. The erotic secrets of the flesh beckoned, and she longed to give in. But it was wrong, so very wrong....

Chapter Sixteen

Penelope was still leading Sylvanus a merry dance in the grounds, but now she decided it was time to placate him a little. Still laughing, she fled back to the castle, across the courtyard, and through the nearest door, which wasn’t—as she thought—the main entrance into the hall, but the way into the kitchens, where the only light came from the banked-up fire. The faint glow lay warmly on Mrs. Jenkins’s prized array of copper pots and pans, and the only sound came from the rather battered clock on the high mantelpiece. Memories swept over the nymph, for this was where she’d been carved, where she’d been polished and varnished until she shone.

Then Sylvanus raced in, but his hooves slipped on the stone-flagged floor, and he slithered into the pots and pans, which fell with an explosive clatter that resounded through the silent house. The faun and nymph froze in dismay, for they knew Anne and Gervase couldn’t help hearing such a racket. Sylvanus seized Penelope’s hand again and led the way back across the courtyard to the double trapdoors, which he flung open. After clambering down into the cellars, he held his arms up to Penelope, who didn’t hesitate about joining him. The trapdoors closed again, and all was silent.

* * * *

In the study Anne and Gervase had jumped nervously apart the moment they heard the clatter of the pans, and as Anne looked uneasily toward the door, the shocking and entirely uncharacteristic intimacies in which she’d just been indulging fled temporarily from her mind. “There’s someone in the kitchens!” she gasped.

“Maybe Mrs. Jenkins has returned, or maybe it’s just the dog chasing the cat,” Gervase replied, guessing the perpetrator of the interruption. Damn that faun! Of all the times to cause a diversion!

Anne wasn’t reassured. “No, I’m sure someone’s down there who shouldn’t be!”

Gervase still did not doubt it was something to do with Sylvanus and Penelope, but not to investigate would seem odd, so he picked up the poker from the hearth. He tried to make Anne stay behind, but she picked up the lighted candle and insisted on accompanying him. They went stealthily down through the dark house, but in the kitchen passage they had a fright when without warning Mog leapt from a shelf onto Gervase’s shoulder. Anne gave a startled cry, and he dashed the cat aside in alarm, receiving a nasty scratch on the knuckles for his pains.

Gervase reassured her. “It’s all right—it was only the cat!”

Considering what had happened in the drawing room an hour or so earlier, it now seemed to Anne only too likely that Mog had caused this disturbance as well. An hour or so? Was
that
all the time that had passed? She felt her face go hot as she remembered the unbelievable indiscretions of which she’d been guilty in the interim. If only she’d imagined it all, just as she’d so often imagined herself in the wheat field, but she hadn’t, it had been only too real, and Charles Danby now had it within his power to destroy her reputation! The duke was about to arrive, and a single word from this man could ruin her. Regret after shameful regret lanced through her, and she wished with all her heart that she could turn back the clock.

Gervase advanced into the kitchens, where gentle firelight flickered over the scattered copper utensils. The room was empty, but then he didn’t expect otherwise, nor was he surprised to see the open door into the courtyard. Whoever had done this would have shown a clean pair of heels the moment it happened. Sylvanus and Penelope certainly would! Right now the faun and nymph were probably somewhere in the grounds, or—if Sylvanus had any say in the matter—down in the seclusion of the temple! He placed the poker quietly on the scrubbed table and glanced at Anne. “Since the door is ajar, I fear there must indeed have been an intruder, but whoever it was has gone now, and I doubt very much if they will risk coming back,” he said, taking out his handkerchief and wrapping it around his scratched hand. He was anxious to reassure her, since he was personally certain of the culprits. “It was probably just some passing vagrant in search of food, but you need not fear, for I will remain until Mrs. Jenkins and Joseph come back.”

At that moment there came the distant but unmistakable sound of the returning pony and trap. Anne had just decided she would ask him to leave without further ado, and so was dismayed, for she didn’t want Mrs. Jenkins to know she’d entertained him alone in the house. “The problem is solved, Mr. Danby, for they are here, and so you may go—now,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Anne, I—”

“Please don’t use my first name.” She was polite, correct, and, she hoped, remote, although in truth such considerations were a little tardy. It was the proverbial attempt to shut the stable door after the horse had bolted, and she knew it.

So did Gervase, inwardly cursing Sylvanus again. But for these spilled pots and pans, a great deal more progress might have been made in the study before the servants returned. He tried to regain the lost ground. “If you still fear that my actions have been prompted by a plot to discredit you, let me assure you that is not so. I concede that I did not behave as a true gentleman would, but it was due to the tremendous effect you have upon me, an effect which I am now equally certain I have upon you.”
Admit it, Anne, please admit it, for if you only knew how much 1 need you to tell me you love me....

“Mr. Danby, I deeply regret what took place, and if you are indeed a gentleman, I trust you will put the entire matter from your mind.” The noise of the pony and trap was growing louder.

“I cannot do that.”

“Then you will not be welcome here again.” She met his eyes squarely, for she meant every word. Too much depended upon the betrothal for her to do anything now except deny her own heart.

He saw how implacable was her determination and gave in—for the time being. “As you wish. Miss Willowby.”

“Do I have your promise that no word of tonight will ever pass your lips?”

“I am offended that you need my pledge.”

“Please, sir, for no matter how intimate we were a few minutes ago, the fact remains that we do not know each other at all. I certainly do not know anything about you, not even if you have a wife.” This awful possibility suddenly struck her, and her hand crept awkwardly to her throat. The misdemeanor would be bad enough with a bachelor, but with a
married man…!

“I am a free agent, just as you are, so the only offense committed tonight was against propriety.”

“I’m not a free agent, sir, as we both know full well.”

He reached out suddenly to raise her left hand. “I see no binding proof that you are another man’s possession.”

“I am bound by my word,” she replied, wresting her hand from him and glancing uneasily toward the door as the dim light from the trap began to shine beyond the courtyard archway.

“What of your heart? What of your future happiness?”

“I don’t wish to discuss this any further, Mr. Danby,” she replied, achieving a cold detachment that belied the passionate emotion within. “I ask again—do I have your word that my indiscretions will remain secret?”

“You do.” There was such an air of finality about her that he was afraid she didn’t intend to receive him again. He had to make sure she did. “May I remind you that I have not completed my inspection of the ledgers?”

“I need no reminding, sir. You are welcome to examine them again, but I must ask you not to call unannounced. There must be advance warning of your next visit, so that Mrs. Jenkins can be present at all times. Do I make my position completely clear?” Her uneasy glance moved toward the courtyard, where the clatter of the pony and trap was suddenly loud.

“Only too clear. Miss Willowby.” How could any seduction be achieved in the face of such a restriction?

“Now I wish you to leave.”

Gervase inclined his head. “I will see myself out. Miss Willowby,” he murmured, and then went from the kitchens to the hall to collect his hat and gloves. As the servants entered by one door, he left by the other, so they knew nothing of the second visit of the mysterious Mr. Danby.

Mrs. Jenkins was dismayed by the disagreeable news that there had apparently been a felon of some sort in her kitchens. She was tired after all the cleaning up at her sister’s house, and, truth to tell, had taken a large measure of soothing elderberry wine when she decided to check that the upstairs fires had been made safe for the night. First she went into the study, where the empty brandy glass immediately told a tale of which she would have preferred to remain in ignorance. Whoever may or may not have knocked things over in the kitchens, there had certainly been an identifiable but equally unwelcome visitor up here! She didn’t doubt who the caller had been, and as she went into the drawing room, she wondered how best to broach such an exceedingly delicate subject of the handsome but questionable lawyer, whose motives for coming here were either devious or simply improper. Then she noticed something very odd, or at least
thought
she noticed something very odd. The lampholder was without its wooden naiad, or nad, as Mrs. Jenkins was wont to call it. Stretching out a hesitant hand, she slid her fingers over the carved surface, feeling for the splintered parts where someone had wrenched the nymph away. But there were no jagged edges, just smooth polished wood. And the candle tray was on the table!